


start a new fire

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Edelthea Week, F/F, Feelings Realization, Femslash February, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Magic, Pre-Relationship, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: It had been a simple request at first: “If you’re free in the evenings, would you mind tutoring me in magic?”A long beat had passed in which Dorothea had only blinked. Then she’d said, as if jolted awake with a bucket of cold water, “Oh! I didn’t know you were interested in magic, Edie.”“I’m not on a personal level,” Edelgard had admitted. “But the professor taught me some a while back, and it seems useful enough.”
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98
Collections: FE Femslash February 2020





	start a new fire

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 6 of edelthea week: company/magic as well as day 6 of fe femslash february: routine! as a note: some of edelgard's characterization here is inspired by the translation of the japanese edelthea supports, particularly [their b-support](https://twitter.com/MikaHaruka_FE3H/status/1220509833914392576).
> 
> title from "rabbit hole" by go! child. enjoy!

Edelgard has a routine.

She hasn’t stuck to the same one over the years, but nowadays it is simple enough: She gets up. She stretches to get herself ready for the day. She carries out all of her morning duties, which most often consist of sending out any letters and notes she needs to as well as dressing, a task shortened by Hubert’s selection of her clothes. She eats and proceeds into the afternoon, the tasks occupying which recently include training, battling, and more paperwork. As the day turns into the evening, Edelgard winds down—sometimes with more fighting between breaths—and prepares to sleep. She deals with whatever responsibilities she can accomplish before the day ends. When it does end, she settles down and repeats it all over again come morning.

Except, slowly, even that updated routine has been changing. For some time, Edelgard hasn’t accounted for other people save Hubert—after a certain point, she’d realized there were few constants in life, and she hadn’t expected her classmates’ loyalty going into this war, not with all she’d hidden from them.

But they’d followed her, and Edelgard’s routine had grown less independent as the others became more and more involved in her life. Still, nothing too specific. She’d pencil in training sessions with certain Black Eagles on a day-to-day basis, but nothing more. As much as she’d tried, Edelgard had still been nervous for months that her allies would turn tail and join the enemies’ armies or leave Fódlan altogether—which was well within their rights, of course, as Edelgard would never force them to stay against their will, but she would… miss them.

Now, though, Edelgard factors someone else into her schedule. Not the simple mainstay of the Black Eagle Strike Force throughout her days, but somebody in particular, a recurring event occupying her plans.

Now, at night, she sees Dorothea for magic lessons.

*

It had been a simple request at first. Edelgard, wanting to pick up new skills so as not to feel as useless as she sometimes did these days, had gone to Dorothea and asked her to help stoke the feeble magic Edelgard had picked up back under the professor’s tutelage into a full-blown flame. Weeks had passed since the thought first crossed her mind, refined and edited a dozen times over like a full-blown speech. In the end, though, all she’d said had been: “If you’re free in the evenings, would you mind tutoring me in magic?”

A long beat had passed in which Dorothea had only blinked. Then she’d said, as if jolted awake with a bucket of cold water, “Oh! I didn’t know you were interested in magic, Edie.”

“I’m not on a personal level,” Edelgard had admitted. “But the professor taught me some a while back, and it seems useful enough.”

“Hmm. Black magic, I assume?” Edelgard had nodded, and Dorothea had tapped her chin in thought. “I should be free most nights, and you know I’m willing—” she hadn’t, not in full, but it was nice to hear “—but I have to ask: Why not ask Hubert? Or Linhardt? I’m not the only mage among your allies, after all.”

“Please, you’ve met Linhardt.” Justified by Dorothea’s small chime of a laugh, Edelgard had rolled her eyes and gone on. “And I feel that Hubert might not be wholly honest about my progress, but I truly do wish for earnest feedback, whether positive or not—I only wish to prevail, and subjective praise will do little in that regard. Besides, I’m not close enough with any of the other mages among our ranks. I would only feel comfortable with one of you.” Dorothea had still hesitated, though, so Edelgard had added: “If you don’t wish to tutor me, that is obviously all right—we’ve all got plenty on our shoulders already—but—”

At the time, she’d wondered: What _was_ compelling her so strongly toward Dorothea? Her concerns about Linhardt weren’t in vain, she’d known, but with a bit of coaxing, she could have gotten more objective takes from Hubert (through his teeth, sure, but he would do near anything she requested), and he specialized in dark magic besides. As far as Edelgard had known, it was more volatile but also more powerful than black magic.

Yet Edelgard had not been able to bring herself to even ask anyone else. Perhaps it was to spare Hubert of further duties when he had already taken on so much; or perhaps, a deeper part of her had suggested, it was only to spend more time with Dorothea.

Her internal conflict had shattered like glass, ultimately unimportant, when Dorothea smiled. “All right, then. If you really want me to help you out, then of course I will, Edie.” She’d taken Edelgard’s hand in hers, and Edelgard’s breath had hitched even though her glove was tight enough that she could feel naught but the general warmth of Dorothea’s hand. “With how well you take to everything else, I’m sure you’ll be a natural. I’ll see you tonight at the training grounds, okay?”

She’d skipped off before Edelgard could do much more than nod. After she’d gone, Edelgard had looked down at her warm hand and, without so much as another breath, curled it into a fist.

*

As it had turned out, Edelgard _hadn’t_ been a natural. Half-remembered concepts from the professor’s old seminars combined with a lack of practical experience outside of observing other mages from afar made for a poor first few lessons. She’d considered giving up, even; thought about telling Dorothea she wasn’t ready for this after all.

But the thought of admitting defeat so soon had ashamed Edelgard, and she’d forced herself to power through. She could recall (in the same way she could recall most childhood memories: Through a water-clogged filter, distant and foggy, only a thin feeling associated with a vague image of herself in third-person) pushing herself through axe and sword lessons as a child, after all, even if that hadn’t been in spite of her apparent lack of affinity for it. Surely this would be no different.

Night after night, Edelgard had shown up to meet Dorothea here. Despite having her suspicions of Dorothea’s intent in bombarding her with seemingly non-magic advice, she’d repeated the same breathing and concentration exercises and stretches over and over again until—to her and Dorothea’s surprise alike—one night it had worked. When Edelgard had looked down at her outstretched palms, it had been to see a flame bobbing between them.

A simple fire spell isn’t the apex of magic nor her specific ability, Edelgard knows, but she’d still been rather proud. (Putting it out had been another story. No one had paid much attention to Dorothea’s lack of a couple of inches of hair, but Edelgard would swear she’d seen singe marks for weeks. That had been when she’d stopped wearing gloves, too.)

Now, they’re sitting opposite each other on the floor of the training grounds, surroundings dim but lit by the flames in their respective palms. (“Technically,” Dorothea had said the first time she’d summoned it herself, “I’m more inclined toward thunder magic, but you remember the professor training me as a mage, right?” At Edelgard’s nod, she’d lifted a palm ablaze and said, “This is from that. It seems to be your specialty, so I’ll do everything I can to help you. Including casting it too.”) Neither of them is speaking, and that’s all right with Edelgard.

She twists her wrist and concentrates to make the fire grow and shrink in equal measure. At this point, it’s become little more than a somewhat more advanced tool to fidget with than her pens, but Edelgard has been told that learning how to cooperate with magic is necessary to master it. If this isn’t cooperation, she doesn’t know what is.

“You’re doing well, Edie,” Dorothea says to break the silence, smiling in encouragement. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first, but—”

Edelgard chuckles—at the dawning horror in Dorothea’s expression at the slip of the tongue, if nothing else. “I wasn’t either,” she says, smile half-teasing and half-reassuring. Here with Dorothea, her usual show of stoicism can melt away. “I wasn’t used to being bad at things. That—sounds bad,” she adds at Dorothea’s raised eyebrows, “but, well, with most other skills, I had either been practicing them for so long that I can’t remember a time I had such problems, or I had abandoned them upon realizing I wasn’t immediately perfect. That also isn’t a great mindset, I realize, but—” She realizes she’s about to say _there’s only so much time in the world_ and bites down on her tongue.

Dorothea laughs, a snorting giggle that Edelgard has only ever heard from her when they’re alone. Apparently, the feeling of secure relaxation is mutual. “I understand, believe me. I haven’t always been a natural at magic either, you know.”

“Really?” says Edelgard, blinking. The very first time she had seen Dorothea perform a spell, she had been taken aback by the sheer confidence with which Dorothea carried herself. Not the arrogance of a noble, but the pride of a hard-working commoner. “That’s quite a surprise.”

“Well, I mean, it sort of does come naturally to me,” says Dorothea, tilting her head. “But at the same time, it doesn’t.” Edelgard can only offer a blank stare. Sheepish, Dorothea averts her gaze. “It’s difficult to explain, I suppose. I only really started practicing a few years back, given I didn’t have any real use for it on the streets—not that I did in the opera, either, it was really just a way to pass the time—but I put in a lot of work.”

Edelgard can picture that: A younger Dorothea poring over any magical supplements she could get her hands, celebrating whenever electricity crackled up her fingertips. “It certainly shows.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” Dorothea tucks her hair behind her ear with a gentle smile. The flame in her hand flickers but stays brightly lit, amber reflecting onto her face. “And—I’m sure it’ll show for you before long too. I’m glad you asked me to help you, Edie.”

Normally, such a statement would be at least a little teasing, but Edelgard can find only serious delight in Dorothea’s expression. Her return smile is hesitant but accompanied by the brightening of her fire spell. “I’m glad you’re helping me, Dorothea. Though I assume you’ll have to share much more with me before I can do more than—” she raises her palm “—this.”

“Hey, it’s a good party trick, if nothing else. If all else fails, you could go into fire-breathing,” offers Dorothea.

Edelgard winces. “I’ll pass, thank you,” she says, perhaps a little too stiff, but Dorothea laughs all the same. “Now, would you mind showing me your fighting stance once more?”

*

“Have you ever thought about using white magic?” asks Dorothea one night, apropos of nothing.

Startled, Edelgard looks at her. Dorothea had been standing, demonstrating some of her thunder magic on one of the training dummies dragged from the knights’ hall, but now she’s sunk back down to sit on the hard tile. She’s not looking at Edelgard but the obliterated dummy, considering the charred straw strewn across the ground with a neutral expression.

“Why? We may be missing the professor—” always a sting to say, though Edelgard will never admit to their death; they are alive, she knows somewhere, but she won’t waste time and resources searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found “—but we still have plenty of other mages trained in it, do we not?”

“Well, yes,” admits Dorothea, “but tactically speaking, I think it’s always a good idea to have as much healing power as possible. We might not be able to help everyone make it back in one peace, but we should at least try.”

A part of Edelgard wants to think of soldiers as nothing more than bodies, nameless mages and warriors and not, beneath the armor and robes, people with families and distant homes and beating hearts. It would make coping with casualties and killing alike easier. But that would make her lesser as a person—if she is to step over whomever she must in order to achieve her goals, to use whatever means necessary, she must accept that those means will result in lives important to the world as well as unnecessary ones. She must acknowledge her actions and atone by making the world better for those who are left and respecting those who have fallen. And she cannot leave that all behind in defeat _or_ victory. Should she fall, she will fall fighting, on her feet mentally if not physically, and if the Church’s promises of a next life prove true after all—

Well. She doesn’t have the time to spare any thoughts for the afterlife now, and she can find little fault in Dorothea’s statement. Every Imperial soldier is worth something; the least Edelgard can do is support efforts to keep as many alive as possible.

“Yes, I believe so too,” she says. Before Dorothea can speak again, she adds, “But white magic is rooted in faith, isn’t it? That… isn’t quite my strong suit.”

“Faith didn’t exactly come easy to me at first either,” says Dorothea, rubbing her arm. “I’ve never believed much in the Church. But now, well—” She raises her hands, which now glow with white magical energy that Edelgard has witnessed many a time on the battlefield. “I have so much faith in all of you that I feel as though I can put my feelings toward the Goddess aside and rely on that instead. It… helps sometimes to know that these hands can hurt, but they can heal, too.”

Edelgard stares at the extended hands even when the magic has faded. There is something beautiful about this, she knows—forging faith not out of religious sentimentality but pure loyalty and, dare she think it, love; healing an ally’s wounds in the same breath as creating an enemy’s.

But that beauty is not for her. It is for people like Dorothea and Linhardt, who don’t want and shouldn’t have blood on their hands but waded into the sea of it for Fódlan’s sake (for _Edelgard’s_ sake). People like the other healers in their ranks, who turned against the Church but still believe in its Goddess; who share Dorothea’s interpretation of faith; who don’t even know where their magic stems from but use it for the Empire. Not the husk of a person Edelgard knows herself to be, the emperor who may go down in history a ruthless conqueror whose ambition cost her the lives of her allies (if this is the legacy her path will lead to, they will never be referred to as her friends), the dissident with no love lost for the Church because there had been none to begin with.

Faith summoned from a different source altogether is a nice thought. To Edelgard, though, the two are intrinsically linked. When she tries to summon warm healing magic like she would fire, thinking of her belief in her compatriots but with the Goddess’s grim visage lurking at the back of her mind, all she gets is pins and needles from her fingertips to her shoulder.

“I understand,” she says. “But—”

Dorothea spares her the embarrassment of admitting her inability. “I understand you, too,” she says, smile on the sad side but still more beatific than any saint. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, then. Make sure your wounds are tended to when all is said and done. You don’t have to grin and bear it, Edie—you can depend on me.”

Her gaze is steady, and Edelgard falters beneath its weight. The flame in her palm goes out. She mutters a curse as she attempts to coax it back to life.

“Maybe we should wrap up for the night,” says Dorothea, amused. “Just—think about it, okay? Not about using white magic—well, that too, if you want—but—”

“I know. I—” Edelgard’s voice breaks the slightest bit. She flushes, more frustrated than flustered, and hopes it isn’t visible in such dark conditions. “That goes both ways. You can depend on me as well, Dorothea.”

They stare at one another for the briefest of moments. Dorothea’s wide eyes hold Edelgard’s. Then she stands, shattering the crystallized air, and Edelgard receives a farewell in the form of a smile, nod, and small wave before she’s left in darkness again.

*

The next time they meet, they don’t so much as discuss it. Edelgard shows up early (as always), Dorothea appears on time (as always), they get right into the spellcasting and sparring, the latter of which is a new and cautious development. The heat of battle can muddle the mind, as they both well know, but with Dorothea’s healing magic, most bets are off.

The sparring match starts off as usual: Dorothea comments on Edelgard’s stance but doesn’t move to correct it, leaving Edelgard to adjust herself until Dorothea nods in satisfaction. They face each other for too long a pause than an active battle would allow for. Edelgard is given the first move, a white queen opposing a black pawn with a promotion no doubt up her sleeve. For several minutes, all that happens is a quick volley of fire and lightning, no clear victor.

“All right,” says Dorothea afterward, stepping back. “Ready to get into the real fight, Edie?”

Edelgard nods and moves. As usual, she summons fire—but this time, there’s something odd about it. It’s stronger than she’s used to, a near explosion that leaves her bare hands hot and smoking even though the fire doesn’t stem from them. Dorothea at least has the good sense and agile reflexes to dodge; her stunned expression might have made Edelgard chuckle any other time, but now there’s nothing funny about it, only the same sort of panic sinking into her chest. The inferno grazes Dorothea nonetheless, a scorch mark visible on her palm once it fades.

“Where did you learn _that_?” says Dorothea, gaping at the charred floor marking the epicenter of Edelgard’s spell.

“I—I’m not sure,” manages Edelgard, voice faint. She brings her attention to Dorothea’s face, shock now mingling with something else. Respect? Fear? Edelgard can’t pick them apart now. “Shall we take a break? I apologize most sincerely for—”

Dorothea shakes her head and waves her off. “You don’t have to. But yes, let’s stop for now. That… really was impressive, you know—I don’t think my heart will stop beating for hours,” she says, a laugh undercutting it, but Edelgard is already looking away.

They sit, the floor as uncomfortable as ever. Edelgard hears but doesn’t see Dorothea healing herself, too intent on her own hand. Had she really summoned something so powerful? She would have to figure out some way to reign in her powers before she next went into battle—it wouldn’t be too awful if she were to use it on an enemy soldier, but the destruction it seems to have the potential to bring gives her pause about attempting it in crowded areas or among other allies.

“That was Bolganone, I believe,” she says, and Dorothea hums in acknowledgment. Edelgard’s hands are shaking. She forces herself to set them onto the ground beside her, the cold tile somewhat soothing the itchy heat, made more uncomfortable than it already would have been by the sweat pooling between her fingers. “I’ve seen other mages cast it, enemies and allies alike. As far as I know, it’s a more powerful variant of the simplest fire spells. The equivalent to—for you, Thoron.”

“That’s pretty cool that you’re able to cast it already.” Edelgard doesn’t look up yet, but she can hear the smile in Dorothea’s voice. “Scary for me, obviously, but it’s a sign you’re making progress, isn’t it?”

Edelgard frowns. “I suppose so. But I doubt I should attempt to use it outside of a controlled setting—I’d intended only to cast Fire in the first place, so I’m not certain—” She shakes herself, curling her hands into fists. “I’m sorry, Dorothea. I should have been more careful.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much—I’m not hurt, and you aren’t either, and I think that’s really all that matters right now,” says Dorothea, and as Edelgard looks up, she finds whatever response she’d prepared dying in her throat. Something else captures her attention.

Dorothea is beautiful. Edelgard has always known that (acknowledged, more like, since she’s been too busy for such frivolous thoughts). It had been near impossible _not_ to notice in passing, what with the amount of suitors she’d attracted for her looks and voice alone, though that flood has lessened in wartime. Stronger words than “beautiful” might be more fitting, even. Edelgard has overheard Dorothea described by just about every positive adjective out there. Though it may not be quite an objective fact, it’s true enough from where Edelgard is sitting.

But now, lit by only an aura of white magic overlaying her scarred palm, Dorothea is more stunning to Edelgard than ever.

And not in appearance alone. Edelgard has never thought of beauty as purely physical, and really, while Dorothea’s looks are appealing enough, what draws Edelgard’s attention is the simultaneous fierceness and resignation in the set of her shoulders, the contrasting tenderness in her magic-reflecting gaze as she looks at Edelgard. The mix of emotions and resolute strength despite it stirs an ache in Edelgard’s chest. She had told Dorothea to depend on her, and in this moment, she wishes for nothing more.

She sucks in a breath, and it must draw Dorothea’s attention—she lifts her head, smile confused but as bright as her magic. It falters when she sees Edelgard’s expression. “Edie, are you all right? You look—” She cuts herself off, but Edelgard can imagine how that sentence might have ended.

Edelgard says nothing. How can she? In the middle of a bloody war she started is no time for such sentiments, at least if she wants them to mean anything beyond a warm body beside hers, which—she realizes with a start—she does. In a way, it’s not that surprising. She’s always been drawn to Dorothea; she thinks with a wry grimace of her intent on getting Dorothea and Dorothea alone to help her train.

But for most of her life, she has bottled things up, compartmentalized to spare herself negative emotions that would hinder rather than fuel her ambitions. This is nothing different.

Or—it shouldn’t be, but Edelgard’s stomach tightens at the thought of keeping her affection for Dorothea tucked away for so long. Still, she has duties, and she must put them before her feelings. She knows that. She knows that in her brain and heart alike, no matter how they wish to rebel, and for now, it will have to be that simple.

Edelgard hears herself sigh more so than she feels herself exhaling, diaphragm flattening on pure instinct. She isn’t satisfied with this outcome, but it is the only proper one—she’ll have time for frivolities later. After all, they’re going to win. There’s no other option, especially not now.

 _It seems the passionate love story I’ve wished for will be postponed yet again,_ thinks Edelgard with a pained smile. That is a secret carried deep within; of course an arranged marriage that would benefit her empire above all else is the option ingrained in her mind, but if she is already going to overhaul the systems that rule her society, she sees no reason to stick to that particular duty.

She shifts on her knees. She’s careful not to let anything show on her face—her Flame Emperor mask has long since been abandoned, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still wear any sort of mask. “I’m all right. Merely lost in thought for a moment.”

“Oh?” says Dorothea, leaning forward with piqued interest visible in her eyes and smile. “What about? Anything interesting?”

Edelgard seals her lips together and drops her gaze. “Nothing too important.”

“You’re not a very good liar, Edie.” Pouting, Dorothea sits back. The healing spell on her hand dissipates into thin air, the effects of Edelgard’s errant spell gone from her skin. “You won’t offer me even a hint?”

“Well—I suppose.” Edelgard coughs as all of Dorothea’s attention swivels back onto her. Her gaze is almost cat-like in its expectation, but she says nothing as Edelgard considers. It’s not so much the words that give her pause (she thinks of Dorothea’s reassurance: _You can depend on me_ ) as her tone—she’d like to steer away from sounding too intense while also not sounding too brusque. “I was only thinking that I’d like to do this more often.”

“This?” repeats Dorothea.

“Training, whether with magic or more traditional weapons,” clarifies Edelgard, glancing at the swords lining the room. “However—generally spending time together wouldn’t be so bad either. Though I doubt we’ll be able to make time for it under these circumstances.” Bitterness bleeds into her tone against her will.

Dorothea doesn’t seem to mind, though. “I would enjoy that too, Edie,” she says with a beam, dimples creasing in her cheeks. “Someday, we can just—walk together. There won’t be any war or suffering or super important work to do, and we can have a day all to ourselves. We can walk in the sun and—I don’t know, actually. We’ll do whatever we’d like. How does that sound?”

Edelgard closes her eyes, imagining such a day, far-off as it seems. Her arm linked through Dorothea’s, her mouth split into a grin as they laugh about whatever inconsequential thing they can focus on then. Her feelings out in the air. And… perhaps Dorothea’s, too, if Edelgard isn’t reading too much into the gentleness of her expression.

“It sounds wonderful, Dorothea,” she says, little more than a breath. “And I’ll keep training so that we can get to that day.”

“Good. I’ll keep doing my best, too.” Dorothea watches her a moment longer, smile softening even further, and then, without pause, hops back to her feet. “Now that we’ve got plans… want to spar again?”

Edelgard’s tranquil reverie is snuffed out. “What?”

“What can I say? I recover fast, and it’s what we came here to do in the first place.” Dorothea winks, but her expression hardens as she extends both of her hands, crackling with electricity. “Come on, Edie, you’re saying you’re not raring to go again?”

“Well—”

“Even if you use Bolganone again,” says Dorothea, making Edelgard freeze at the pinpointing of her exact concern, “I’ve got plenty of healing spells left. I’ll be all right, Edie.” Her hands fall back to her sides. “If you really don’t want to, it’s all right. But I have faith in you.”

Edelgard curls a loose lock of hair around her finger as she thinks. Her hands have cooled down, though heat lingers in her face. Oddly, she feels more in control of herself now than she has all night (all day, even), despite the new light she can’t help herself from looking at Dorothea in. With a deep breath, she drags herself back up. Knocked off-kilter as she is by the turn of the conversation, she can’t say she doesn’t respect Dorothea’s enthusiasm and work ethic enough that it inspires her.

“Fine,” she says like it’s been dragged out of her, act of weariness at odds with her spreading smile. “But you make the first move, all right?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/birdmarrow) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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